


I'm Not Alone

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [23]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-23
Updated: 2006-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark thinks he might be going insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Alone

"Shit.” Mark pulled his knee up into his stomach, trying to relieve the sharp pain. He glared at the rushing businessman with the dangerous briefcase dangling at his side. He shifted his bags in his arms, careful not to drop his ever present camera or the rarely affordable snack foods. His glasses were clinging to the end of his nose, but he had no free hands to push them back up.

Mark made his way back towards the loft, stopping every few minutes to readjust his bags. He skillfully avoided the other people on the streets, the crowds slowly changing from businessmen and shopping families to the homeless and drug addicts of Alphabet City. No one noticed the young filmmaker as he struggled home.

He finally made it to the entrance of his building, but then realized his problem. He glanced back and forth between what he held in his arms and the doorway that stood in his way. He sighed in relief as the door swung open, revealing a flushed and panting young girl.

“Hey! Miss, would you mind holding the door for…” Mark trailed off as the door swung shut, the girl already several feet away and obviously paying now attention to him.

Mark huffed, turning back to face the door. He kicked it first, hoping that it would fall in. But, as was his luck, it didn’t budge. He swung his leg up again, catching his foot on the door handle. He tried to turn it, but stumbled backwards as he slipped. Finally, after a few more tries, the door handle clicked and Mark was able to force his way inside the building.

“Why the fuck did we decide to live on the top floor?” Mark groaned, his legs already tired from the walk. He slowly trudged up the steps, relieved to see the doorway to the loft open and unobstructed. He moved quickly through the doorway, dropping his bags heavily onto the steel table. He could hear a few random chords floating out of Roger’s room, hearing no real pattern or progress.

“Hey, Roger! Can you help me unpack this stuff?” Mark yelled out, pulling food out of the paper bags. He set aside the Milano cookies, knowing that they were Roger’s favorite.

“Roger! Get out here and help me!” Mark shouted, more amusement than anger in his voice. He sighed as Roger hit a sour note on his acoustic. He was putting the Ramen packages into the cupboard.

“What is it Mark? What do you so  _desperately_  need me out here for?” Roger growled out, violently pulling out a few bottles of water. Mark flinched at the harsh tone, wondering if this was just a normal Roger brooding phase or something more.

“I just wanted to you to help me unpack, cause I assume you’ll be eating too,” Mark explained cautiously, folding one of the paper bags and putting it the drawer.

“What, cause I can’t shop for myself? If little Markie weren’t here to take care of me, I wouldn’t eat? Is that it?”

Mark froze, keeping his back to the obviously grumpy rocker. He thought back over the past few days, trying to remember anything that could have caused the onset of these bitter emotions. It wasn’t Mimi, cause they had been getting along well ever since the breakup. They hadn’t seen Maureen in a few days, so it couldn’t be her. The new band was going well, and Roger was writing a few songs every week, so it wasn’t any artistic frustration.

“What is it Roger? Is something wrong?” Mark turned slowly, resting his back against the counter and loosely wrapping his arms around his middle.

“God Mark! I can take care of myself you know!” Mark wrapped his arms more tightly.

“I wasn’t saying you couldn’t.”

Roger grunted in a way that would have been comical in any other circumstance, throwing the bag of chips in his hand into the cupboard. “Then stop treating me like a little kid! I can feed myself and you don’t always need to amuse me and make sure I’m happy or whatever! Can’t I just be upset! Why do you need to find out what’s wrong?”

Mark’s eyebrows furrowed together, the confusion evident in his eyes. “Because I’m your friend.”

“Well, just, don’t, okay! I don’t need you...” Roger growled out, not bothering to finish talking before swinging around and heading back to his room. Mark flinched as the door swung shut. He slowly finished unpacking the groceries before making his way into the bathroom, quietly closing the door and locking it behind him.

The young filmmaker clutched the sink for a moment, his head hanging down. Another man may have teared up, but not Mark. Mark Cohen didn’t cry.

He quickly turned the faucet, wincing as he splashed the cold water onto his face. Just once, he wanted hot water after noon.

Reaching into the medicine cabinet, Mark pulled out his razor blade, shaving the little stubble that had grown out while he had been running errands. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He could barely make out the sounds of Roger pacing around his bedroom, grinning ruefully as he heard the rocker flop down on his bed. As expected, the sounds of carefully plucked guitar strings began to move through the loft.

Mark flinched, dropping his razor as Roger hit a particularly loud sour note. He winced in pain, seeing where the razor had nicked his arm. He quickly wrapped his right hand around the wound, instinct telling him to stop the flow of blood. He froze for a moment, pulling his hand away and looking at the smeared blood. He glanced back to the razor in the sink, thinking just for a moment about how easy it would be to end it all.

Mark threw himself backwards, images of April in his mind as back collided with the wall. He sunk slowly to the floor, not believing what he had just considered.

It did make some sense though. Mark pulled his knees up to his chest, tightly clasping his shins. He had finished his film and couldn’t think of what to do next. He had a job he hated at the Starbucks it took him over half an hour to walk to. He hardly saw any of his friends anymore, and when he did it was because they needed something. And apparently his presence and concern for his best friend weren’t welcome.

He felt so silly for thinking the other night that their relationship might grow into something more. It had been just the two of them, not a rare thing in the loft. They had been having a good time, just drinking cheap beer that had come from Collins at some point and watching old films. Mark had fallen asleep earlier than usual, his job serving impatient power brokers and stuck up teenagers having worn him out. But he had awoken feeling safer and more comfortable than he had been in a while. Roger had fallen asleep by that point, but he had Mark nestled carefully in his arms. Mark had never found out if that had happened before the rocker had nodded off or if had been a random occurrence in Roger’s sleep, but it gave him hope that their relationship could grow to something beside friendship.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” Mark growled out quietly, barely stopping himself from pounding the floor in frustration. “What use am I? Would anyone even care if I had done it?” In the back of his mind, he knew he was being silly, but Mark was on a roll. “Maureen would have found someone else to fix her equipment and moved on. Roger apparently doesn’t want to deal with me. Starbucks I’m sure could hire some bubblegum popping dimwit to replace me.” Mark laughed at the last thought, picturing his coworkers. “The rest of the world wouldn’t even notice. I bet I wouldn’t even get an obituary in the damn paper.”

“And I’m talking to myself. Great, I’m officially insane.”

“You’re not insane honey, a little unhinged maybe, but not insane.”

Mark leapt to his feet, tripping over himself and falling to the floor once more. He looked up slowly, seeing a faded image of Angel before him.

“Angel?”

“Hey darling.” Sure enough, Angel was standing before him. Mimi had been right, she did look good.

“But, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Angel tilted her head to the side, her wig bobbing slightly.

“God, I am insane.” Mark clenched his hands into his soft blond hair, shaking is head back and forth as he chuckled bitterly.

Angel sighed, a soft smile appeared on her face. “I though we went over this.”

“Snap out of it Mark. Come on.” The filmmaker opened and closed his eyes several times, thinking maybe the image of his friend, his very very not alive friend, would disappear.

“No matter how many times you do that Mark, I’ll still be right here.”

Mark shook his head, giving up and going along with whatever was happening. If he was going insane, he might as well not agonize over it. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, not here?”

“Well, they could have sent their average little angel guide, but, I mean, you’ve got me. I fit a little more into the storyline, don’t you think?” Angel smiled, bouncing as she talked.

“Uh, okay. Why would I need an angel guide.”

“Come on honey, haven’t you ever seen  _It’s A Wonderful Life_?” Mark shook his head. He had never really sat down for the film, for him it was more one of those things you have on in the background during the holidays. “And you call yourself a filmmaker. Well, I am here to show you what the world would have been like if it hadn’t had the benefit of the existence of one Mark Cohen.”

“What, would the world explode in a catastrophic apocalyptic explosion?” Mark replied, a wide grin on his face as Angel scowled at him.

“Don’t get snippy with me. Now take my hand.” Mark sighed, grabbing onto the proffered hand. His breath caught in his throat as lights flew past him, his chest rumbling as though an airplane were flying too close, and he landed heavily onto soft carpet.

“What the fuck!” he shouted, Angel laughing beside him and bouncing around the room.

“Don’t you recognize this place?” Mark looked around, taking in the whole and clean furniture, the books on the coffee table, and the noise of running water coming from upstairs.

“Oh God.” He was at his old home in Scarsdale.

Angel laughed, poking one of the many trophies on the mantle. “But don’t you notice anything different?”

Mark looked around the room, seeing nothing new or out of the ordinary. It was the same old floral couch, complete with the singed corner from Cindy’s short lived chemistry set. His grandfather’s bookcase was still in the corner, filled with all of his father’s old novels and encyclopedias.

“Oh, honey, we’ve got to work on your observation skills. Tell me, how many contests did you win for music and film in high school?”

“Twenty four,” Mark answered without any hesitation. Sure he was a Bohemian, living for his art, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like winning. “Wait, where are all my trophies?”

“There you go. Remember the whole ‘I’m going to show you what the world would be like without you’?” Mark nodded in a daze, getting to his feet and wandering around the room. “Well, here we go. Show time!”

Mark jumped back as the front door flew open, revealing his sister. This was her senior year of high school, Mark could tell by the Calculus book under her arm. She rushed right past him into the kitchen.

“Can they…”

“Well, if they could see you that would probably just about ruin everything, now wouldn’t it?”

Mark watched as Cindy collapsed into one of the padded wooden chairs, throwing her books to the floor and dropping her head directly onto the table. Her shoulders began to shake, soft sobs escaping even though she was obviously trying to hold them in.

Mark moved in closer, his eyes squinting in concentration. “I remember this day. This was when she found out that her boyfriend, gosh, what’s his name?”

“Kenneth Berg?”

“How did you know?”

“Angel guide, remember?”

“Yeah, well, she caught him kissing the head cheerleader. He didn’t even defend himself, just ended it. They had gone out for six months, forever in high school years.” Mark grinned, the smile fading quickly as he looked back as his crying sister.

“Mmm-hmm. So, what did you do?”

“Huh?” Mark looked up, pulled out of his internal musings.

“This is about you honey, remember that.”

“Oh. Yeah, well I just told her to forget about that jerk and asked mom to take us shopping. We had a really good time and Cindy had a new boyfriend within a few days. Everything was fine. How could me not being here affect it. I mean, she’ll get over it on her own.” Mark shrugged, not understanding why they needed to stay.

“Oh, baby, keep watching.”

Mark stood in silence, watching as his sister continued to cry. It took her much longer to stop than it had in real life, but she was finally able to halt the flow of tears. She picked her books up and made it up the stairs, wiping her nose delicately on her sleeve.

"Okay, so it took her longer to stop crying. She'll…"

A loud piercing scream rang through the house, instinct sending Mark racing up the stairs. He looked around frantically, searching for the source of the pain and anguish. He saw the door to the bathroom open and heard Cindy scream again, his feet taking him down the hallway. He looked in, seeing his mother in the bathtub, just like April had been. Except, there was no blood. She had drowned herself. The water was beginning to flow onto the floor, soaking Cindy's jeans. Tears were streaming down Cindy's face harder than Mark had ever seen, and she continued to scream.

“Oh God. Oh my God,” Mark stumbled backwards, his right hand grabbing at the front of his shirt. He watched as his sister cried over the body of his mother in the bathroom, hearing his father pull into the garage. Angel gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Remember, this didn’t happen because you were here.”

Mark's knees gave out as he collapsed to the floor, Angel coming down beside him. "But, I don't understand. My mother was never…"

"She was so frustrated and tired, she just thought this would be easier. You kids didn't know about all the financial problems your parents were having. She figured that you guys could collect on her life insurance policy and everything would be okay."

"But you can't collect on a suicide," Mark said numbly, moving aside as his father raced in. He clenched his eyes shut at the anguished scream, opening his eyes the tiniest amount to see his father pull Cindy into a tight embrace.

"That's why she tried to make it look like an accident. When you came up to ask her to take you and Cindy to the mall, she figured it could wait. Then she realized how much joy you two brought into her lives, and that she had so much to live for. And, your father got a promotion that night and everything was okay."

Mark watched how his family could have fallen apart, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the pain. But nothing could block out the screaming. “Angel, please, get me out of here. I don’t want to see any more of this.”

"Okay baby, take my hand again."

Mark took his friend's hand again, once again flinging past bright lights. This time the landing was much harder.

"Fuck!" he shouted, rubbing his injured rear as he picked himself off up the sidewalk. He looked around the bright sitting street, recognizing a nicer part of town than he usually frequented. This was closer to Joanne's apartment.

"Okay, come on. Use those filmmaker observation skills!" Angel cheered, bouncing along the sidewalk. Mark raced after her, pausing at a small cafe.

Joanne sat at a table, sipping at a warm mug of coffee as she went over the papers that were spread out on the table. Mark looked more closely, and she appeared to be perfectly fine.

"It's Joanne," he said bluntly, pointing at her because she knew she couldn't see and scold him for being rude.

"Good job, now watch!"

Mark stood in silence, looking around him. A familiar mess of curly hair caught his eye as a woman made her way down the street.

"Maureen," he breathed out, looking back and forth between the two women. Maureen was skipping along happily, wearing that ridiculous Mickey Mouse shirt Mark had always said was two sizes too small. She bounced by them into the cafe, ordering her favorite type of coffee. Mark watched as she accidentally bumped into Joanne's table on the way out, knocking a paper to the floor. His forehead crinkled in confusion as she continued on without even a second glance at the lawyer. Joanne just shook her head and bent down to pick up the legal document.

"What was that about?"

"Remember that argument you had about Maureen not being polite or considerate to people unless she wanted something?" Mark nodded, that had been their last argument as a couple. Angel watched him with a wide smile on her face, waiting for the epiphany to hit.

"Are you kidding me!" Mark shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. "The one time she actually  _listens_  to me about something like that it causes her to dump me for a lesbian lawyer!"

Angel giggled. "She really took what you said to heart, and she stopped to pick up Joanne's paper. They started talking, hit it off, and, well, you know the rest."

"Wow," Mark huffed, his hands going to his hips. "Who woulda thunk it?" The filmmaker looked back up at his friend, who was holding out her hand again. "Someplace else?"

"Of course. Three's my lucky number, so we're almost there."

"Fine." Mark took her hand, the now familiar lights flashing by him. He braced himself this time, landing unsteadily on his feet.

"Awww, you're getting the hang of this," Angel cheered, pleased and clapping her hands. He hopped over to the kitchen of the loft, jumping up to sit on the steel table.

Mark knew immediately what night it was, seeing the flaming pieces of paper floating through the air outside and the yelling of the other tenants on the street. He smiled as Roger came in from the balcony, his face flushed from the cold air. Everything seemed fine, then it hit him. His eyes. Roger was high.

"No, no. He quit, remember? He quit that shit right after April, didn't he!?" Mark shouted, feeling the unwanted tears welling up in his eyes.

"Oh honey, you weren't here to help him. He never quit. After April died, he kept doing more and more heroin. He's still a junkie because he couldn't take the withdrawal on his own, and he had nothing left to live for without April. No one left to live for."

Mark watched as the rocker made his way quickly into his room, leaving the door partly open behind him. No need to slam it when no one was around to hear.

Mark moved into his friend's room, shaking his head sadly as he saw Roger shooting up. He had taken for granted too much never seeing that when he came home anymore. Considering the trend of his experience, Mark could guess how this was going to end.

Even thought he had been expecting it, a few tears began to drop down his face as Roger clenched his stomach in pain. The rocker licked his lips, trying to moisten them. His breathing grew more and more difficult as he slowly fell onto the mattress, passing out.

Mark didn't notice the soft knock at the door as he rushed to Roger's side, quickly realizing there was nothing he could do. He looked back at where Angel stood in the doorway, seeing the faint glow she gave off.

"Isn't there something we can do."

"We don't need to honey. He's okay because you were always here to save him."

Mark looked back at the unconcious form of his friend, backing away and racing into the bathroom. He felt a soft hand gently rubbing his back as he heaved all the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

"She honey, you do matter. Your friends may be a little preoccupied right now, and they don't always show it, but they really do care about you. Things will get better real soon, they already are. Be strong, I have faith in you."

Mark grinned weakly, turning around to respond to his friend but being greeted with nothing. He looked around quickly, finding no sign of Angel anywhere around him.

There was a soft knock at the bathroom door, and it creaked open slightly to reveal Roger's concerned face. "Hey, Markie, are you okay? It sounded like you weren't feeling too good."

Mark nodded, looking down at the floor as he stood and flushed the toilet. "I'm fine, you don't need to worry about me Roger," Mark assured, patting his friend's shoulder as he moved by him.

"Uh, Mark, I think we need to talk." Mark turned back to his friend, nodding towards the couch as he moved slowly across the loft. The two friends sat down, both staring forward at the wall.

"Mark, I want you to know that, well," Roger began, clenching his hands tightly in the pockets of his leather jacket as he always did when he was nervous. "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. I know you act the way you do because you care, and I appreciate it. It's just, sometimes I feel like I don't deserve all this worrying over me."

"I know you think I do," Roger held up his hand, stopping Mark from interrupting, "it's just that you have always been here taking care of me, and what have I done? I mean, you stayed by me even when I was bringing in all kinds of people you shouldn't have to hang out with at all hours, then there was the withdrawal, and me just being me too. I just, I want to let you know that I really do appreciate all that you do for me. And, that's why I got so upset this morning, I guess. I'm just so afraid of losing this."

"I'm not going anywhere Roger," Mark sighed, turning his body and placing his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. He loosely gripped the strip of leather attached there, something that had always been a source of amusement for him.

"After his you might," Roger explained, looking up for the first time. For seemingly the millionth time in the past few hours, Mark's forehead furrowed and confusion shown in his eyes. He couldn't think of anything realistic that Roger could do that would make him leave.

Mark's eyes flew open as Roger's lips pressed against his gently and quickly, the kiss chaste and all too short for Mark's liking.

"There, I did it," Roger said, more to himself than the filmmaker. "I love you Mark. Please don't hate me too much. I can live it you just want to be friends, but I don't think I could stand it if you hated..."

Roger was cut off as Mark reclaimed his lips, this kiss filled with much more passion. Mark gripped the rocker's neck and hair tightly, feeling strong arms wrapping around his waist. The two were eventually pulled apart by the need for air, but they stayed wrapped up in each other with their foreheads leaning gently toegether.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," Roger chuckled. Mark grinned back as the loud noise of the answering machine ran out.

"Markie! Roggie! We've missed you! Come down to the Life for dinner tonight and we'll catch up! It feels like I haven't seen you guys in  _forever_! It'll be our treat! Meet us there as soon as you can, we're holding a table right now. Bye Pookie!" Maureen signed off with the loud sound of her kissing the phone before hanging up.

Mark smiled as Roger groaned. "Great, and I just got my hopes up that we could, you know, spend some  _quality_  time together."

The filmmaker chuckled. "Don't worry Rog, we've got all the time in the world," he soothed, pressing their lips together gently and lovingly. If he had been paying attention, he may have been able to hear the tinkling laughter of an angel.  


 

 


End file.
